Title: Urge for Going
Pairing: Sean B/Viggo
Summary: Sean misses his flight and Viggo keeps him company
Notes: I absolutely took great liberties with New Zealand geography (I'm sure).
Sean missed boarding his flight back to Wellington by ten minutes, and stood at his gate, clutching his overnight bag in one hand and a mobile phone to his ear in the other. On the other end, Viggo was laughing at him.
It'd been raining all night and the main road from Havelock into Picton was reportedly washed out. He could have driven the long way around to have made it on time--he could have called someone, he was sure, and they would have held the plane, maybe--but he had waited until the waters receded, only to discover that "washed out" had been a bit of an exaggeration by one of the A.D.'s more familiar with California than New Zealand. The deluge had produced a sizeable puddle just outside the car park to be sure but he doubted that in the end it had been more than two inches at its deepest. He didn't explain any of this to Viggo, who had spent the night communing on a mountaintop or whatever it was that Viggo did. It wouldn't have dared rained on his campsite. Besides, he'd already grumbled something about it when he'd first called and the bastard was still laughing at him.
Sean squared his jaw and lifted his chin, erasing every bit of what might be construed as petulance in his voice before he spoke again. "You act like I did this on purpose."
And all right, the rain had been an excuse but he really hated that he was quite that transparent; still, he conceded because Viggo wasn't wrong. He didn't bother to conceal his peevishness this time, though, because he knew that Viggo occasionally enjoyed mollifying him with gentle words and even more soothing touches, and could do so quite brilliantly when provoked. "There's a perfectly good ferry."
"Which I suppose you'll be taking."
"Three hours and I'm back in Wellington without ever having to leave the earth."
"I have it from a reliable source that just as many calamities can overtake one in a boat as in a plane with the end result being the same."
"Stop before you leave me in need of serious therapy--"
"One could argue--"
"Have you been speaking to my ex?"
"In the plural. Lovely women all," Viggo said in that way that made Sean wonder how much truth there was in the statement, and more, why the joke didn't bother him as much as he thought it should. "Do you need a ride to the port?"
"Tomorrow." Sean watched as his flight taxied down the runway, its propellers seeming very small and inefficient in the face of the heavy, grey clouds that hung low over the mountain tops. "I really did intend to take the flight," he said but without much conviction and just enough of a whinge to make Viggo huff out another laugh, soft and low this time, as if he was indeed trying to placate Sean. The sound was nice--more than nice, warm and comforting, and Sean pressed the phone tighter against his ear as the plane's wheels left the ground, its wings shuddering slightly (and Sean along with it).
"Did you return your car?"
"Of course I did. It was due today anyway."
"You really were planning to take the flight."
"It had propellers," Sean said, trying to convey in just that word that jet planes rated only slightly above helicopters but both were well below planes with propellers in ways he'd like to die.
Sean was still watching the plane as it grew smaller against the horizon though he could still make it out bright white against clouds, as he listened to the sounds coming through the phone--the rattle of keys muffled as they're shoved into a pocket, a door pulled shut and the knob tugged on to be sure it locked behind. He turned away from the bank of windows and gripped his bag a bit more tightly, his stomach twisting pleasantly this time, in anticipation and a certain, familiar excitement--Viggo was coming for him.
"So," Viggo said over the sound of the engine turning over in the pick-up that Viggo had managed to acquire, probably on trade for the rental they were all given, reasoning that Aragorn would never be seen in a sensible sedan the way the rest of the Fellowship might. "You're free for dinner."
"I need a place to stay, too, if you want to put me up."
"A friend in need."
Viggo managed to make his voice sound like a leer over the phone and Sean looked first over one shoulder then another, finding himself mostly alone in the tiny airport except for the girl at the rental counter who had asked for his autograph when he'd checked his car in, and who was eyeing him now in what seemed like an open invitation. "How do you manage to make everything sound so filthy? Not that I'm objecting."
"Talent, one of many I possess."
"I'll attest to that." Sean laughed, smiled and nodded at her before he stepped outside and closed his eyes to breath in the cool air. There'd be more rain, he was sure, but at the moment the world smelled clean and crisp, the breaks in the clouds showing bright blue. Over the connection, he could hear Viggo humming along with the radio, and when Sean spoke it was only out of a need to hear his voice again. "I feel like I should ask what your intentions are."
"I caught some lovely trout in the Waimea Catchment this morning. The couple who run the homestay are keeping them on ice for me until I get back. We could grill them over an open fire and then spend the night looking at the stars. I can show you my favorite constellations."
"That sounds like code."
"You were always a bright boy."
"Not nearly. I used that line once when I was twenty-two."
"Even with the fish?"
"He was lovely, a lovely lad from the south. He played Touchstone in a West End production of As You Like It."
"Now that sounds like a proposition if I ever heard one."
"The dirtiest mouth he had. I took him to the planetarium because I didn't know where else we could see stars in London and then a chip shop after. We ended up at my flat."
"And it worked."
"Which is why I'm convinced it'll work again. It's time honored--fish and stars if you want to sweep a man off his feet."
"I'm not camping."
"Where are you?"
"How close is close?" Even as he asked, he heard Viggo's truck before he saw it. He snapped his phone shut, and slipped it into his pocket. He'd have to call the A.D. and explain what happened since he'd been right behind him in line to board. He had time, though, before the plane landed. Right now, he grinned as Viggo pulled up at the curb and leaned over to pull up the lock and push the door open. Sean tossed his bag into the bed of the truck and pulled himself inside, dusting his hand along the dirty dashboard and kicking aside Viggo's tackle box to make room for his feet.
Viggo slid his broad hand over Sean's neck and pulled him close, his eyes narrowed as he made his own assessment of Sean's mental status, Sean supposed, before drawing Sean close, pressing their foreheads together. "I have to be in Dunedin by noon tomorrow."
"My ferry leaves in the morning. You can drop me on your way out."
"I think you'll like where I'm staying. I should have had you over before."
"You seemed to be enjoying my room."
Viggo smiled, laughed softly, and nodded. Their filming schedule hadn't left much room to enjoy anything other than a few quick handjobs early in the morning or late at night, sharing a shower more because it had seemed easier than not. They'd frequently fell into bed together but to sleep, and Sean wasn't ready to admit how much he had enjoyed just that--a warm body against his back, a broad hand on his hip.
"So, are you really afraid of flying?"
"I thought maybe it was just an excuse to see me again."
"It's that, too," Sean said against Viggo's lips, against his smile. Viggo nodded as he sat back and settled his hands on the steering wheel, as he eased back the way he'd come.